The Perils of Being a Little Bit Fat in Vietnam

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Let’s get two things straight. 

I am a little bit fat. 

I am currently living in Vietnam. 

Separately, I love both of these facts very much. Combined, they can be a bit of a nightmare in various circumstances.

Let’s discuss.


I’ve written about bonkers massages before, but getting a rub-down here in Vietnam is especially amusing for chunky humans like me. See, before you have a massage, the therapist will ask you to change into a special little massage outfit. These outfits tend to be silky, strappy, and void of any stretchiness. And, as much as I like wearing silky little numbers at any given opportunity, I found out the hard way that these massage outfits were not made to fit a big body. 

Massage #1

When I arrived, the therapist passed me some silky black shorts to change into and they were so tight it took me a good two or three minutes to drag them over my thighs. Once I’d inserted myself into them all I could think about is how much I resembled an overstuffed sausage.

The massage commenced and all was well until the lady attempted to pull down the micro shorts to massage my butt. And she couldn’t. Because they were stuck. What ensued was slapstick comedy of the highest form as she put all her might into freeing my considerable girth from the shorts she’d forced me into just minutes earlier. Eventually, she succeeded and for some unknown reason, she celebrated her victory by slapping my ass quite hard. 

Massage #2

My second humiliation was at the hands of a red silk slip that I was forced into. This time, I was with a friend and she looked like a sexy dream babe in her LRD (little red dress). Mine, however, wouldn’t go over my hips. Not even a little bit. The therapist had a good go of helping me cover up but it was in vain, and by the time she and I were done pulling on it I was hot, sweaty, and still very much naked from the hips down.

Massage #3

The third and final wardrobe malfunction was at a recent massage. Thankfully, this time the therapist had fished out some fat-gal shorts for me and I was v pleased not feel like a sausage again. The top, however, didn’t work for me one bit. It was a piece of material that tied behind my neck and back, and it was about 50% too small for my large bust.

Mid-way through the massage while lying on my back the therapist attempted to adjust it for me and both boobs popped out the sides. Then, later while she was doing some Thai massage moves on me they escaped again. I laughed, she apologised profusely, and I gave her an extra big tip for the trauma of having to deal with my bosom.


I’ve been on a billion waterslides in my time and not once have I been weighed before being allowed to mount the ride. That is, until a couple of weeks ago when my pals and I went to a waterpark for a day of fun in the sun. 

We arrived, ate a massive buffet lunch, then changed into our swimmers to do some splashing around and whatnot. The lazy river was a success, as was the first proper waterslide we went on. But then, on the second slide, a strange thing happened. When we got to the top of the stairs the lifeguard told us that we all had to be weighed before we were allowed on.

Can you imagine the humiliation of being weighed in a bikini in front of your friends?

As much as I’m generally very relaxed about my body’s appearance, a lifetime of being labelled obese by BMI charts has gifted me with a super negative relationship with my actual weight. What made this ordeal worse is that I was only 0.5 kg under the maximum weight for the slide. I am, according to that waterpark, almost too heavy for fun. I definitely spent the rest of the day sucking in my stomach, and I reckon I might have sworn off waterparks for life, the fat-shaming bastards.


Imagine being in a country where you are too fat to buy clothes from shops.

I only intended to be in Vietnam for three months so I didn’t bring a lot of clothing with me. COVID obviously changed my plans somewhat, and I’ve now been here for eight months. As a result, I had to buy new garms because all the ones I brought with me stink due to continuous wear. There’s an H&M near me so I thought that would be a good bet for stocking up on some good ol’ fast fashion. Nope. Almost everything they stock is a UK size ten and below. I am not a UK size ten or below, so this obviously poses a bit of a problema.

Even getting shorts made by a tailor was a bit of a disaster. The seamstress measured wrong and I ended up with a pair of shorts akin to the ones that the massage ladies stuff me into. She did compliment my “big jiggly bum” though, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time and money.

I also needed to buy new swimwear but again, there’s nowhere to purchase the sort of industrial-grade cinching and scaffolding swimmers that a body like mine tends to prefer. I heard about a woman that makes swimwear and is amazing at it (it’s about $10 for a custom-made bikini) so I gave her a go and she’s as brilliant as people say. However, her customer service is questionable. The other week she made me a bikini top and when I tried it on it was too small. Like, so small that I looked like a model on a site that you’d only open in your private browser. I told her this and she responded by taking it off me, putting it on over her clothes, and laughing with her assistant at how huge it was on her. Cheers, love.

Wanna read more stuff about stuff?

Here’s some information about my body

Here’s a tale of getting a massage in Colombia

Here are some other humiliating things that have happened to me

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